Between Death and The Devil
by philyra-tales
Summary: When Darcy encounters troubles in producing artwork for her scholarship, she prays to a God and receives stunning visions in return. But like with everything, there is a price to pay. When she is given a tempting offer, will she take it?


**Title:** Between Death and The Devil

**Author: **thalia-csiny / philyra91

**Rating: **T

**Word count: **4865

**Status: **Completed

**Fandom: **_Thor _and _The Avengers_ AU

**Pairing(s): **Loki/Darcy

**Prompt: **Temperance (defined as moderation in action, thought, or feeling; restraint / synthesis of opposites / known as an Underworld card)

**Author's notes: **Written for the Tarot Deck Challenge, organized by sadirapookie

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. All characters, settings, and proprietary language are owned by the author of the work from which this is derived.

* * *

Darcy's hand flew furiously over the blank canvas, heavy strokes marking the paper with lead. There was something intense in her gaze; as if she thought the harder she stared into the paper, the faster she could get the images she wanted onto it. It was still just a bunch of lines and smudges together but she knew what she was doing. Last night's dream had been so vivid, the most extraordinary yet. She didn't know how she was getting them, or why, but she never wanted them to stop. They were alarming and sometimes frightening in a way that pushed and drove her creativity to the limits. She didn't think it would be possible, but each new dream both terrified and stimulated her. Her art had never been better.

It always started the same: cold fog surrounding her as she slowly made her way through the deep dark forest. At least she _thought_ it was a forest. Sometimes, there were trees, pomegranate trees, while other times, there were huge scaly monsters that masqueraded as trees, bending and bowing in the cold, painful wind. Her hands hardly left her side for she dared not touch anything. The pomegranate trees reminded her too much of Persephone and how the goddess had been seduced into staying in the Underworld with pomegranate seeds. Darcy was afraid that if she touched anything, lingered for more than what was appropriate, she would never be able to leave this dreamland.

Yet, she did not want to leave. If anything, she wanted to stay, if just for her garments. She was always dressed most beautifully in these dreams. Mostly gowns, but every night, they never failed to make her feel elegant and sophisticated. Silk, gauze, lace, gossamer; knee-length, ankle-length; long-sleeved, no-sleeves; she felt completely and utterly pampered. The necklines were always low too, but not immodest; in fact, they were almost demure compared to what she would have chosen for herself. She felt sexy and classy at the same time.

Time seemed to move differently in her dreamland. For one, there never seemed to be daylight. Her surroundings were hardly illuminated and it always took her weak eyes some time to figure out what was going on. Before, on some nights, there had been eerie creatures crawling towards her, startling her into a blood-curdling scream, adrenaline fueling her sleep-addled brain. They would moan and beg and kneel before her with their skeleton fingers grabbing at the hem of her gown. Some bled from their eyes while others had insects crawling out of their mouths and nearly all of them looked starved beyond remedy. On others, she herself would come before a statuesque lady in front of a majestic gate, feeling very much like a child who was about to be punished. The woman looked like those biblical angels she had read about, powerful beyond measure in a suit of armor with blood red wings. She would always be holding two goblets, mixing wine and water. Darcy didn't know the significance but every time she tried opening her mouth to ask questions, no sound came forth.

Without her knowing it, as if she had been possessed, Darcy had completed her drawing. The dreamland she had been immersed in slowly faded into the art studio and she found herself anchored back into the present once more. Her hands were dirty from the pencil lead and paint she must have picked up along the way, with her hair in an atrocious mess. She did a rough job of smoothing out her hair with the back of her hands as she looked to the painting she had just completed. It was the woman at the gate, the warrior angel. She had drawn her with the goblets, and the gate and added in the macabre scene of the emaciated souls at her feet. Only this time, there was a lot more blood, and the face of the woman was her own.

* * *

Laying out on the campus lawn in the mid-day sun, thankfully under the shade of a huge oak tree, was just what Darcy needed. Though there were only dreams, the bleak coldness always seemed to seep into her body by the time she woke up. It didn't feel like dreams anymore; it felt like she was literally traveling to this morbidly alluring dreamland every night and everything she felt or saw was real. Never one who even liked to tan, Darcy now gravitate towards the sun, as if she wanted to store all the heat and warmth of the day to keep her alive during the nights.

"Look, I'm not saying it's a bad thing," Jane Foster, Darcy's best friend, commented as they sat under the tree, looking every bit at ease with their shades over the eyes and their books scattered about them. "God knows how much you complained when you thought you had a mental block. I just think you're relying on them a little _too much_."

"It's not too much," Darcy retorted, her remark lacking in bite as she enjoyed the leisure activity of simply lying out on a picnic blanket and doing absolutely nothing.

Jane straightened up in her seat against the tree trunk, a finger pulling on one side of her sunglasses. She cast a wary eye upon Darcy who seemed oblivious to her friend's change in mood. "Darcy," Jane spoke in a firm tone of voice, one she usually reserved when giving presentations for her lecturers. "You completely freaked out last week when you went 2 days without those dreams." When Darcy remained unresponsive, still smiling with the sun on her face, Jane nudged her thigh with her foot. Darcy turned to face her, a little annoyed. "You trashed your studio!"

Darcy crossed her arms over her chest, a little miffed. "I'd hardly call knocking over a few paint cans and an easel 'trashing my studio'." In fact, she barely gave the incident much thought. She was privileged enough to stay off-campus in an apartment, and Jane only knew of the whole matter when she came over to invite Darcy to lunch. She should probably institute a new rule: call before visiting, please.

Jane sighed, exasperated that Darcy was refusing to see the truth of the situation. Her voice turned a little gentler, a little softer. "It's not a bad thing that the dreams are helping with your creativity. It's just that…" she paused as she tried to find the right words, words that would not anger her friend. "Maybe you're depending on them because there's something lacking in your…real life?"

A blush bloomed as the tingle of offence warmed Darcy's cheeks. She couldn't believe that Jane, a Science major, a woman dedicated to all things tangible, was trying to psychoanalyze her. But if she had to admit it to herself, perhaps it was true. Perhaps the reason why she clung onto her dreams like a vulture with its prey was because she was afraid of what she would be _without _them. No inspiration, no creativity, just an empty husk of an art student with nothing to show for. The dreams were completely upping her game. Perhaps the dreams made her feel wanted. She must have been deemed worthy enough to have been granted these visions by some unseen power when in her everyday life, she's overlooked by her lecturers and taken for granted by her family. Would it be so bad if she were to simply live in her dreamland forever?

Doing her best to conceal any sort of resentment, lest Jane thought Darcy was mad at _her_, she punched Jane's hipbone lightly. "Don't worry about it," she assured her, casually sweeping the subject under the rug. "I'll figure something out."

* * *

Unknown to everyone on campus, a figure sauntered across the field, seemingly unaffected by the heat despite being in long robes and a golden horned helmet. Like a projection simmering in the bright sunlight, he was walking away from the oak tree with a wide grin on his face, his eyes almost narrowing into slits. Yet he exuded an aura; cold and cruel like the steel of his helmet. His face might have appeared kind in some light but there was malevolence lurking beneath the surface.

The conversation between the two women had been most enlightening, he thought to himself, as he mulled over their words. He was amused to learn that the younger one depended on his visions like her kind depended on oxygen, not that she knew he had sent them. He still wasn't sure what it was about her that he found so captivating; after all, he had dabbled with the lives of humans before, even engaged in a few dalliances, but this-this woman was like no one he had ever known.

She had been brought to his attention one night when she invoked his name. He rarely paid much attention to the feeble prayers of mortals anymore, not since the days when the ancient Gods had been abandoned, but he found her pleas marginally pitiful. "Please let me draw better! Please let me keep my scholarship!" To think that she would pray to _him _for such a foolish demand. Did she not know of his powers? The mortals of old used to pray to him for riches, for their plans of deception to succeed, but never for something as frivolous as _art_. He really should have just left the girl but he couldn't help but want to listen more.

"Darcy, you have to pray to someone!" another girl had squealed. This must be what Midgardians called a 'slumber party'. Funny, they all seemed to be dressed rather decently, contrary to what Thor had told him. "You have to name some God!" A quick scan of the room turned up copious amounts of various types of mead with things he recognized to be typically occult. He smirked to himself, were these girls hoping to conjure up something supernatural?

Darcy had paused before simply blurting out, "Loki then!"

"Who the hell is Loki?"

Brief but intense fury rose through Loki at the insolence of the girl. His fingers twitched and burned, the urge to teach the girl a lesson fast rising, but he wanted to hear Darcy's response. He fancied it as a test. If she responded satisfactorily, he would spare everyone in the room in her name.

"Major God in Scandinavian mythology," she informed the girl, who was already looking disinterested. "He's supposed to be really famous. He brought about the end of the world, you know!" she assured everyone, but their attention was being diverted to a female who was starting to throw up. She scowled to no one in particular, before mumbling, "Not that I believe in him anyway."

Loki took her words as a challenge and proceeded to demonstrate exactly why he should be believed in. True to his trickster nature, he moved her belongings around, made her spine tingle at the notion of being watched, and compelled her to believe that she was seeing a dark, stalking figure out of the corner of her eye. The final straw came when she returned home one afternoon to find all her kitchen appliances in her bedroom and all her furniture piled up in the kitchen. Her rage had been entertaining in light of her fragile humanity but he found his curiosity piqued when she started yelling into thin air. "I don't care who the fuck you think you are, but if I ever find you, I'll fucking cut off your dick!"

She obviously still thought herself to be the victim of a senseless prank but her words of wrath turned him on. Such a pretty pink mouth vocalizing crude thoughts, he mused. What else he could get that mouth to do? She clearly had a fiery passion and he was already itching to find out what other traits she was hiding beneath her tempestuous exterior. He kept himself veiled but had the audacity to leave a final parting gift: a handwritten note on luxurious green paper. In his elaborate calligraphy, he wrote, _Be careful what you wish for._

* * *

The night was unusually warm, the kind that left people feeling sticky and sweaty but not in a good or fun way. Slouching on her couch, and dressed casually in a pair of shorts and a blue camisole, Darcy tossed the sketchpad she had been staring at over to one side. Walking into the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator, hoping to find some cool beverage to soothe her thirst. Pleased to find a half-full bottle of wine, she poured herself a glass and made her way back to the living room.

The humidity only served to fuel Darcy's irritation; she had been trying to draw without her dreams but to no avail. She hadn't received any in days and she was beginning to feel antsy. Had she somehow lost them, along with her creativity? What was she to do if she could no longer produce any artwork? Her drawings of late were substandard and lacking in passion. They didn't seem to have any life in them, not like the ones she had painted of her dreams.

Taking a large swig of wine and putting the glass aside, Darcy gave staring at her sketchpad another try. Surely her mind could produce _something!_ Even if her dreams had been figments of her imagination, that would only serve to prove that she was capable of artistry, so surely she could create something similar again.

"Fuck this!" she cursed into the air, tossing her sketchpad across the room and it landed with a thud in the middle of more random paintings and sketches. She fumed to herself for a few moments and was about to retrieve it begrudgingly when she paused mid-position. Her apartment had suddenly turned cold, an impossible event between the weather and her faulty thermostat, and her breath was starting to come out in visible steam puffs in front of her. She took a quick glance at her wine glass and saw that it had turned frosty too.

"_What the hell?" _ Panic rose in Darcy, in steady waves like how the tides came in. Was this the wine's doing? She sat back down, doing her best to slow her breathing. _"It's nothing,"_ she tried convincing herself. _"You're imagining things again." _Yet fear began to leak into her body, her flight-or-flight instinct going into overdrive. Her limbs loosened, and her cheeks were no longer warm and when she felt a shiver down her spine, she knew she had to get out of her apartment now. Without thinking to grab anything, she made a dash for the door and screamed when a figure materialized right in front of her.

Loki hadn't meant to scare her, not by very much at least so it came to a surprise to him when she screamed and fell back on her derrière. He was even more surprised when her forearms gave out and she landed flat on her back. Not the most elegant of appearances, he must say.

"Who-who-who the hell are you?" Darcy sputtered, her heart still pounding from the scare as she sought to recover herself. She struggled to rise but her legs were still weak so it took her a few tries. With slight indignation, she noted that the intruder had yet to offer any assistance._ "Of course he's not going to help you! He's probably here to kill you!"_

"Get out of my house!" she demanded the moment she was able to stand. When she finally faced the stranger, she was taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing a long green cape with a mixture of leather and metal underneath and she managed to pick out boots out of the entire ensemble. He had a harsh face, all lines and sharp edges and his eyes were a curious mix of green, gold and a tinge of black. His black hair was almost down to his shoulders and it had been neatly slicked back. Was this rather stylish man going to be her murderer?

When he remained silent, his eyes trained rather intently on her, Darcy felt a blush beginning to rise. Her attire was completely modest, but the way he was looking at her; well, if it weren't for the fact that he had just fucking _materialized_ in her home, she would have slapped him. Her heart was no longer pounding against her ribcage but the fear still remained and she wondered if it was possible to go around him to get to the door. As if sensing her thoughts, he moved just a fraction to the left, blocking her access entirely.

Her way ahead cut off, she moved backwards slowly, a little startled when he matched her movements, moving forwards too. Her hands trawled through her sides, and quickly found a letter opener on top of the oak chest. It was a blunt instrument but she figured with enough force, it could work in her favor – she would be able to prolong his suffering. His eyes obviously caught the obtaining but he allowed it with a smirk. _"Arrogant bastard!"_

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Darcy," the man finally spoke, his words accompanied with a curt bow of his head. Though his manners appeared polite, Darcy had no doubt that he was capable of savagery. She could see it in his eyes.

"Who are you?" She hated how frightened her voice sounded, how shaky it was but she absolutely loathed how her stomach lurched a little at the sound of _his_ voice. There was an almost musical cadence in his speech, and she liked, no, hated the slight lilt in his accent.

"Does it matter?" It was an undeniable fact that Loki was a confident man; after all, he wouldn't have been able to pull off half the tricks he did in centuries long past if he hadn't had the self-assurance. Seeing Darcy Lewis now, in front of him, in what he had to admit was very tantalizing apparel, he was deeply gratified that he had taken a chance on her.

"I'd like to at least be able to report a name to the police."

"Your law enforcement cannot stop me." He laughed, the mocking hostility making her wince a little. Darcy twisted the letter opener a little and its blade caught the light, drawing his attention. "You have no reason to fear me, mortal," he assured her, the tone of his voice taking on the quality of honey.

"_I have every reason to fear you, asshole!"_ she wanted to say but chose not to. _"No use getting killed so early."_ Their brief exchange was already providing her with some clues. _"Mortal, your, he mustn't be from around here."_

"My name is Darcy and I'd appreciate yours," she stated forcefully.

Loki eyed her, intrigued. She clearly was a feisty and tenacious woman, traits he both respected and admired. She knew her way with words too and that was something he very much enjoyed. He paced the small leeway he had, proudly aware that her eyes tracked his every motion.

"I go by many names," he began as he looked at her pointedly. "Trickster, Liesmith, Silvertongue, God of Mischief and Destruction, Father of Chaos, shall I continue?" he asked, a perceptible curling of his lips.

"Loki," she breathed, and this time, he smiled. "That too," he acknowledged.

A God. She had a _God _in her home! She would be totally ecstatic if not for the fact that she was completely freaked out now. If this truly was Loki – and frankly, it wasn't as if a human could simply appear out of nowhere – she was as good as dead. She had learnt from a project that Loki brought about the doom of the Gods. A girl like her wouldn't stand a chance. Yet, she was unwilling to write herself off. A God like Loki wouldn't simply pay a girl like her a visit, and if he deigned to speak to her, maybe there was something he wanted from her. Maybe she could bargain for her life.

"What do you want?" she asked but she wasn't sure if he had heard her. Loki was now interested in the art that was littering her apartment. Various sketches, paintings and drawings she had done during her time in university – still life, nudes, and scenery – but he seemed most fixated on the ones stemming from her dreams. His fingers lightly traced them and an inexplicable urge to push him aside rose in her, feeling as if he was invading her privacy just by looking at them.

"These are your pride and joy?" he turned to face her and in that moment, she cursed inwardly, knowing that she should have used the distraction her artwork provided to escape. _"But are you faster than a God?"_ Still, her doubts kicked in. She quickly brushed them aside and focused on Loki instead.

"Why do you care?" she made sure to sound nonchalant, fearful that if she let on how important the drawings were to her, he would use the knowledge against her. Yet, her attempts were futile for when he moved to pick one of them up, she rushed over to snatch it away from him. "Leave them alone!"

"_Ah_," Loki thought to himself. _"At last, she reveals herself." _But then he saw how her body began to tremble and how her bottom lips were quivering and he realized, at long last, how terrifying he must be to her. He never meant to appear so intimidating; he supposed battling for centuries with gods and demons could have such an effect on a person. Belatedly, he admitted to himself that he probably should have introduced himself in a better way. At last, he took pity on her and moved a step away from Darcy's artwork, deciding that he should reveal his intentions to her.

"I can take you away," he announced abruptly, one hand motioning about the room in a random fashion. "I can take you away from your miserable human existence. I know about your visions and I can show you the truth behind them, so that you may never have to only see them in your mind's eye. I can show you resplendent beauty or cruel magnificence, whichever you so desire." He reached out to trace a finger down Darcy's cheek and was secretly glad when she only flinched slightly instead of stepping back. "Talent like yours befits my court. You need only consent".

As realization dawned on Darcy, Loki became conscious of an allure about her. He hadn't thought her appearance as particularly attractive in the beginning; her figure very much in contrast to what was considered beautiful in his realm but now, seeing her eyes light up so captivatingly, he had to reconsider everything he thought he knew of her. He certainly would have his hands full with her should she accept his proposal; he wanted to discover all there was to know about her, in a way no mortal would ever come close to, and when that was done, still he would want more. He would know her better than she knew herself; he wanted to be a part of her, wanted to be under her skin until they moved as one, until there would be no beginning or end between them.

"You sent me those visions," Darcy whispered, her mind still trying to process this new information. Loki, the Norse _God_ Loki, had sent her those dreams. Beautiful, spectacular, terrifying, completely terrifying but amazingly majestic dreams. They had been exactly what she needed: inspiration for her art, and yet… The note! It told her to be careful for what she wished for. Darcy's mind frantically searched through the dim recollections of her memory; she hadn't wished for Loki specifically but wait, she had invoked his name! She gave herself a mental face palm. Trust her to not believe in gods when there was one right in front of her! That'd teach her to pray to the supernatural! But if he sent her the note, then he must have also… _"You moved my stuff around, you little shit!" _She glared at him fiercely, but wisely chose to remain silent on the matter.

"I can do much more than that. I can take you anywhere you want in the whole of the Nine Realms, and you can draw and paint anything you take a fancy to. Jotunheim for the Frost Giants, Scartalfheim for the Dark Elves, Hel where the dead dwell, anywhere you want and you are there." Loki offered his hand, his gaze matching hers. He would not admit it to anyone, not even to himself, but in that moment, he was vulnerable. By the Gods, he wanted, no _needed,_ her to say yes. He had been so lonely for so long, cast out by Odin for Balder's death and Ragnarok causing him nothing but more pain and suffering. He knew he had no right to covet this woman, an innocent whose apex of suffering should only consist of heartbreak and the fragility of mortality, but she reached out to him first and he was going to have her by any means necessary.

Darcy stared at the hand Loki offered and was sorely tempted to simply take a hold of it and be done with it. _Frost Giants? Dark Elves? _Art aside, this was something no one would ever experience and here she was, being given this opportunity. But surely there must be a price? A man offering to take her on an adventure would naturally want something in return. Suddenly, his offer did not seem as sweet as it was before.

"And if I say no?" her voice trembled but Darcy didn't care about her displays of weakness anymore. If she didn't play things right, she was going to die in the next few moments. Appearances hardly seemed important anymore.

She watched as he clenched his offered hand into a fist and withdrew it to rest by his side. In that instant, despite their relatively cordial exchange thus far, she became aware of how menacing he truly was. Much of his body had been cloaked in the shadows but now, as he straightened his back, his head cocked slightly to one side, she saw the coldness to him that was fierce and lethal. He was sinewy but lean, and he definitely looked like he could tear through buildings, never mind just her alone. Yes, this was the man fully capable of bringing about the doom of the Gods.

"I would, of course, prefer if you came willingly." His voice remained melodic but there was a threatening edge to it now, his words couched with a hint of ominousness as his eyes pierced into her being. "I am a gentleman and I will not take you by force. But know this, your rejection will be a renouncement of me. Your visions are by my blessings. Turn me away and you will never see, hear or sense me again. Above all, you will never experience any of the Nine Realms again," he proclaimed, moving a few steps back to give her the space she would need to think.

The sudden fear of losing her art struck Darcy with a force so powerful, she felt her gut quail at his heartless declaration. She would lose her inspiration without those dreams and what was an art student without the tools of her craft? There was no denying it: she was far too reliant on those dreams now. She looked to Loki once more, who offered the barest of smiles. Jane had said she was depending on them to compensate for some deficiency in her life, and she was right. She was lonely and miserable, and the dreams offered a way out. In them, she was powerful and feared and with them, she was regarded visionary and innovative. But Jane had warned that Darcy needed balance and this was _so_ not balance. This was tipping the balance, sending her over the edge. Darcy suddenly felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice and she didn't know if there was going to be anyone at the bottom to catch her.

"_You can't keep running away forever," _a small voice sounded at the back of her mind. But this wasn't running away! This was going to be an entirely new experience and no one would ever have this possibility but her.

Loki regarded Darcy with an intense stare as he watched her contemplate her options. Threatening to take away her visions was dishonorable, but he would not lose sleep over it, for he had to use whatever lead he had to make certain she would come with him. When she turned to him again, he saw that there was a hunger in her eyes, and he knew he had almost accomplished what he had set out to do. He reached out for her again, his pale hand tempting her once more.

Darcy looked to him and then to his hand, and by her side, her own hand trembled.

**===END===**


End file.
